


The Oath

by Wilson



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: BAMF Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), BAMF Merlin (Merlin), Canon Era, Canon Rewrite, Canon-Typical Homophobia, Canon-Typical Violence, Dorks in Love, F/M, Gwen is a boss babe confirmed, I do what I want, M/M, Magic Revealed, No Beta, Other, Post-Magic Reveal, Protective Arthur, Protective Merlin (Merlin), Sort of? - Freeform, Uther is a dick, We die like redshirts, also, but the story would be less interesting without him, lets be honest, multiple parings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:40:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28082550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wilson/pseuds/Wilson
Summary: Though Merlin has many gifts, prophecy had never been one of them... that is until destiny is thwarted. When his secret is finally exposed, Arthur does the one thing Merlin could have never imagined; With Merlin's fate suddenly uncertain, the enemies of the Pendragon dynasty drawing near and the biggest celebration Camelot has ever seen in full swing, it will take a lot more than a fancy sword to secure the future of Albion.After all, Arthur Pendragon may be the Once and Future King, but he was never meant to rule alone.
Relationships: Gwen & Merlin (Merlin), Gwen/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Gwen/Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 66





	1. No

The creature had, probably, started life as a boar. 

Merlin hated boars. 

They were the sort of animal you learned to fear living in the country: they were violent, stupid, and very strong. Regular boars were bad enough without being the size of a horse and possessed of two pairs of massive, razor-sharp tusks. The creature seemed to be exhaling a faintly green mist which made Merlin even more convinced that this was going to be a Very Bad Plan. “Arthur, that boar is _enchanted_.” 

Across the field, the creature’s massive hooves were churning up the mud and turf as it charged-- there was no other word for it-- towards the small group of knights that bristled with plate and spears on the edge of the treeline. Arthur hefted his spear and frowned at his manservant. “Obviously it’s been enchanted, _Mer_ lin. That’s why we brought a dozen men.” His tone was that of one speaking with a rather slow child. 

“I don’t think this is a good idea.” 

“Yes Merlin, you’ve said. Multiple times. Stop being such a girl.” 

The boar was clearly not in the mood to wait for the prince to finish arguing with his servant, as it was rapidly closing in on the knights. 

“Ready men!” Arthur hefted the spear above his shoulder. The spearhead was wider than Merlin's spread hand and barbed. Arthur threw in a high arc, and even annoyed with him, Merlin had to admit that the ease of the motion was impressive. The spear flew quickly and hit the boar mid-body with an audible thunk. 

The beast didn’t seem to notice. 

Arthur called for a frontal assault. There was no time for an “I told you so” as the men took up arms and joined battle with the beast, but Merlin suspected that it would have had as much effect as the spear. The three villages who had sent the plea for help were rapidly being destroyed by this creature, and Uther had promised aid. Arthur wouldn’t turn back for something as simple as the fact that the enemy in question was using unknown magic. Too many magical rescues had given Arthur an unrealistic expectation of his own skills, Merlin thought bitterly. 

Keeping to the side as much as possible, Merlin had no choice but to follow Arthur as well as he could as the prince and his men circled the beast, swiping and stabbing at the body of the boar while trying to dance around the stomping hooves. He wouldn't be much good with a spear, but he could perhaps see something useful; maybe it had a weak spot or some talisman or mark that provided the boar with its power. Merlin stared at the monstrous creature as it bucked and kicked at its attackers, but saw only coarse brown hair and leathery skin. 

A knight ran at Merlin’s side, carrying a javelin and wearing his helm with the visor down over his eyes. Merlin didn’t know the man’s name, he was one of Uther’s long-serving knights, and well used to the patrol. “Sir Knight,” Merlin called, “your visor--” 

But the man was already charging, Merlin’s words either unheard or ignored. Three others from the party charged with him, forming up a small frontal opening attack. They were only a few paces away from the creature when the thing’s massive head swung around, invisible to the visored men. The boar’s double tusks collided with the first knight and flung him back towards Merlin. He fell with a short cry and did not try to rise.

Merlin’s blood chilled as he stared at the plate covering the man’s chest and side. The thick metal had been ripped apart like so much soft wax. Blood poured from the gash and the visor, still down, blocked the man’s view of the beast as he died. Merlin scrambled forward, crying out and reaching for the man. Even as he touched the outflung hand he knew there was nothing for him to do. 

Arthur whirled, taking in the dead man and the rapidly worsening situation. “Merlin! Get down!” 

Not needing to be told twice, Merlin took cover behind a small rise in the terrain. He had to lay flat on the ground to be hidden in the tall grass. Arthur and his men were holding their own against the boar, learning how to best evade it the longer they fought, but nothing they did to it seemed to be slowing it down and the men would tire before much longer. Merlin forced himself to look past the knights and past the beast itself. He searched for any sign of enchantment. For a moment there was nothing, then a faint prickle of warmth began to creep up Merlin’s spine. It flowed along the ground, apparently coming out of the creature… but that couldn’t be, that would mean the boar itself was casting. The knights were shouting as another man was cut down, but this time the knight popped up again and hobbled to the side, out of the way of the others. Desperate, Merlin closed his eyes and tried to _feel_ what was happening before him. _Show me where you come from._

No, the power wasn’t flowing from the creature, it was flowing _into_ the creature with such abundance that the magic seemed to overflow and spill out onto the earth again. It filled up every part of the boar and obscured any natural energy the creature had. 

“Arthur!” Merlin had to shout over the cries of the men. Arthur had lost his helm or more likely thrown it aside after what happened to his fallen man, so the prince was distinguishable by the glint of his blonde hair in the sun. Standing beside Arthur, Percival was a massive presence. He wielded a spear like it was a toy. Another figure, indistinguishable in his silver plate, was too slow and a hoof struck him in the chest. The knight collapsed in a heap and did not move again. Merlin had to do something. “ _Arthur_! It’s being animated by magic! It can’t be killed!” 

That got the prince’s attention. Arthur danced back from the fray and turned toward Merlin, “ _What_?” The spear in his hand was slick with blood but there were no visible wounds on the creature. Now that he was tuned into it, Merlin could feel the pulse of the magic flowing from the earth, healing the beast. He didn’t have any idea how to stop it, particularly since it didn’t seem to be coming from any specific source. 

“You can’t stab it to death! Arthur, you have to retreat!” 

Maybe it was because Arthur couldn’t conceive that stabbing wouldn’t solve his problems, maybe he didn’t hear the words over the sounds of the ongoing fight, but the prince didn’t step back immediately. It was only a heartbeat, maybe two. Later Merlin would realize that the whole fight had been remarkably short, it had only felt long to him. Each moment seemed to be stretched and elongated. 

Someone, another unknown knight was trampled. He fell with a scream and an awful series of snaps and cracks. The man beside him roared and stabbed into the creature's side, below the joint of the shoulder, with force. In response, the creature shrieked and flung its head. 

Time seemed to freeze. Merlin watched helplessly as the vicious tusks connected with Arthur’s half-turned torso. Arthur’s eyes went wide as the shock of the blow connected but he couldn’t have felt the pain yet. The panic on Merlin’s face was reflected back to him through those blue, blue eyes. Arthur was going to die.

No.

Merlin flung out one hand, but his voice was calm. He spoke normally, but the word seemed unnaturally loud, even in his own ears.  “ _ No _ .” 


	2. A Simple Country Peasant

Arthur presented the boar's head to his father with great dignity, his sense of ceremony apparently undaunted by being covered in road dust and unmentionable magical boar guts and the fact that, due to the unfortunate stench, the formal presentation had to be conducted whilst standing in the castle courtyard. 

The three men who’d died in the battle had been brought back to Camelot in a cart, albeit a different cart than the head; the surviving knights stood, also dingy from the road, as a solemn honor guard for their fallen brothers in arms. Merlin, who was rather confused about why his head wasn’t lying beside the boar’s, stayed to the back of the group, totally beyond the notice of the nobility, or anyone else for that matter. Between the dead knights, the tales of heroics, and the gory head, he’d never been so invisible in all the time he’d been in Camelot. 

He’d never felt more exposed. 

He’d done magic _in front of Arthur_. Not anything impressive, really. He’d just stopped the boar. It hadn’t required any magic words or glowing power. He’d certainly done more impressive looking spells in the past: Merlin had just looked at the beast, at the magic coursing through it, and said _No_ . Said _Stop_. It had stopped. Arthur had fallen to the ground, thrown by the force of the aborted blow. Merlin could see from the stiff cast of the prince’s shoulders that the impact still pained him, but he’d been able to ride all the way back to the castle unaided. 

Also, he was still alive. So that was good. 

Except Merlin wasn’t really sure _why_ he was still alive. He’d been wondering about it since Arthur had killed the boar. 

He still didn’t remember standing up from his place in the grass, but he had been standing with one hand still outstretched when Arthur had risen to his feet. He could still recall the sudden panic that had gripped him when he realized what he had done. The creature had frozen, one leg suspended in mid-air. He’d stopped the knights too, thought that had been accidental. They stood like players waiting for their cue, eyes fixed on their unmoving enemy. Arthur hadn’t seemed to care about the men; his eyes had never wavered from Merlin’s face, and the sudden hush of the frozen battle had roared in his ears, almost as loud as his breathing. 

Merlin knew his eyes had been gold. 

Then, with one shockingly swift movement, Arthur had ripped the sword from his belt and whirled, severing the neck of the massive boar with a two-handed blow. Blood and gore had sprayed from the beast, but not nearly as much as it should have if it had a beating heart. Distantly, Merlin wondered if the thing had been dead before it had been transformed, or if the creator had killed it in the process. 

Arthur had not spoken one word to him, not one, since they’d broken eye contact on that field. Once he’d beheaded the creature the magic animating it had fled, and even if Merlin had been able to focus on it he didn’t think he could have followed its trail. Merlin had let go of his hold of the scene almost as quickly and the commotion had returned like a candle flaring back to life. The headless beast fell like a puppet with cut strings and no one had so much as looked his way. The knights had been full of praise for their prince’s amazing deed and focused on the dead and wounded. Arthur seemed to have forgotten that Merlin existed. He had moved behind the group, at a little distance, and done what he could to help. 

No one had sent him away, and Arthur hadn’t said a word about what he’d seen Merlin do. 

As he stood there in the courtyard, the only member of the party who didn’t bear some obvious wound or stain of blood, Merlin’s mind raced. He’d exposed himself. Had there been another way? He could have let Arthur die. He could have done nothing. 

The prince bowed formally to his father as his Liege, and half turned to gesture Merlin forward. The report was done. As they walked into the castle Merlin found himself staring at Arthur’s sword, the casual confidence in the way he rested his sword hand on the hilt of his weapon. It was something he’d noticed a thousand times before, at least. 

Seeing it now, all he could see was the brutal force with which Arthur had drawn that sword and swung, all one movement, to dispatch his enemy.

Arthur's magical enemy. 

Merlin’s fingers and toes seemed unusually cold, and the fear was starting to trickle down his spine as reality set in. He was the enemy now _._ Merlin didn’t have a death wish… but still, he could not make himself wish he had not saved Arthur. Staring at Arthur’s sword hand and wondering if it would be the hand that killed him, Merlin _couldn’t_ make himself wish he’d stayed hiding in the grass. 

Stupid idiot. 

At that moment he hated Arthur. Hated his perfect face and his inability to see beyond inherited fear, hated his stupid, stubborn refusal to just _listen_ to Merlin for _once_ ... Hated him because he should be so much more than Uther Pendragon's son and because Merlin knew that he could never have let Arthur be gored, even to save his own life.

Was there anything he wouldn’t let Arthur do? What a pair they were. 

He was an idiot too, Merlin decided, he’d been born with more magic than anyone before him, if the druids were right, and still, he couldn’t help but love Uther Pendragon’s son. What was wrong with him? No other magic user saw Arthur the way Merlin did. Certainly, none of them were willing to die for the likes of the Pendragons. 

Arthur turned abruptly and Merlin, lost in his thoughts and still seeing the way he’d whirled on the boar, jerked back with his hands up, palms out. 

Arthur didn’t move, but his hand tightened on the hilt of his sword and his eyebrows drew down. For a humming moment, both men stood still, staring, then Arthur hissed furiously, “ _Merlin_ , in the _hallway_?”

Merlin could only gape at him. Of all the things he’d imagined Arthur doing or saying, that was not on the list. “I… I.. _What_?”

Arthur seized Merlin roughly by the shoulder and dragged him into his chambers (and when had they reached Arthur’s chambers?) the door snapped shut behind them. 

“Merlin,” Arthur spoke with calm control, but his eyes were hot. “Were you about to use _magic_ on me?” He said the word softly like he was worried about being overheard. 

Merlin just gaped. “ _What_ ?” It was all he could manage. He looked down at the sword that was still sheathed... The sword that Arthur was _letting go of_ and tried to convince himself this was a bizarre dream. 

“Aren’t you going to kill me?” The question just popped out of his mouth, and Arthur seemed as startled by it as Merlin felt. He didn’t respond immediately, so Merlin asked again. “Arthur, don’t you… you have to kill me now.” 

A strange feeling of calmness seemed to flow over Merlin. He didn’t want to die, of course not, but it made sense. It had to happen. The young warlock had worried about it for so long, spent so many dark moments imagining it, fearing it, that it felt as inevitable as the sun rising. 

Arthur unbuckled his sword and cast it onto the bed.

“What are you doing?” Merlin choked out. The look on Arthur’s face was hard and unreadable. “Arthur, I don’t want to burn. Please.” His voice cracked on the word _burn_ , and Arthur’s eyes chilled to blue ice. The prince drew himself up to his full regal bearing “Did you, Merlin of Ealdor, cast a spell to aid in the killing of a magical creature that terrorized the village people of Camelot?” 

Merlin frowned. Well, if you put it like that… “Ah, no, but--” 

“Did you use an incantation?” 

“You know I didn’t, Arthur. Why are--” 

“Did you concoct a potion?” 

“Of course not!” This was ridiculous, Arthur knew perfectly well that Merlin had done none of those things. Why was he being so daft? 

“Did you cause harm to any citizen or knight of Camelot?” 

That brought Merlin up short. “No. I was trying to help.” 

Now Arthur went to his chair and sat heavily, feet apart. One bunched fist banged lightly on the table, and his gaze was intense but averted from Merlin’s. His shoulders were still quite straight, and when he turned the full weight of his gaze on Merlin the servant had the sudden urge to bow or something equally as ridiculous. Sometimes he forgot that Arthur spent his whole life preparing to become a king. 

King Arthur. Merlin wondered if he’d live to see it.

For a moment his vision blurred; Arthur’s body seemed bigger somehow, his chest wider across. The road dust on his jaw reminded Merlin of a dark beard. There was a glint at his brow and the hilt of his sword that Merlin didn’t recognize, and Arthur’s eyes seemed… calmer somehow. Bluer. _King Arthur…_

“Then tell me, _Mer_ lin, what exactly _did_ you do?” The prince’s voice seemed to come from far away, and Merlin shook his head to clear it. _Stupid_ , daydreaming at a time like this. Fear for his life was making him stupid. “Er… what?” 

Arthur frowned at him and repeated, “What did you do?” 

“I just,” Merlin gestured vaguely, “I told the boar to stop moving. I didn’t use any magical words. I just… told it to stop.” Arthur’s expression darkened, “Did you create the creature?” It was the first question that felt sharp. The servant held up both hands as if to shield himself from the biting edge. “No! Arthur, I swear!” 

“Then why did it obey you?” It was a fair question, but; “I don’t really know. I told it to stop and… it did. I don’t know why it worked.”

After that, the silence stretched for long enough that Merlin started wishing for a chair. They’d been on the road for nearly three days altogether on the trip to kill the magical boar and as the only non-knight in the party, he’d done the most walking. Arthur was staring at the empty tabletop, a muscle in his jaw working, and though he didn’t seem immediately homicidal, Merlin decided not to push his luck. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, waiting. 

“What about the knights?” Arthur finally asked.

“Ah, no, that was a bit of an accident.” Arthur raised both eyebrows at that, and his expression became incredulous. “An accident.” 

“Um, yes. I didn’t tell them to stop. I think I may have just… stopped things… too hard?” 

“You stopped things _too hard_?” 

“Er… yeah?”

Arthur just stared at him, disbelief on his face. There was another long pause and this time Merlin was almost certain he wasn’t going to be killed in the next few minutes. He was just about to ask for a stool when Arthur stood. 

“So, you think I must kill you,” he began slowly, “for the crime of sorcery?” His tone made it a question, so Merlin nodded slowly, unsure where the line of questioning was going. 

“You think you should be killed as a sorcerer because you told an enchanted creature to stop moving, _with your mind_ , and the creature obeyed.” Arthur clarified. Now very confused, Merlin frowned, “Arth--” 

“You think you should be killed _as a sorcerer,_ ” Arthur cut him off, “Because a magical beast of unknown origins and unknown abilities responded to your thoughts, without any incantation, spell casting, or potion brewing on your part?” 

Merlin was beginning to feel stupid. “The knights…” 

“Were caught in the magic from the beast,” Arthur waved dismissively. “Honestly, _Mer_ lin, you’re the only person I’ve ever met who was arrogant enough to assume that an enemy was being controlled by the power of his thoughts alone. Everyone _knows_ magic requires magical acts of some kind, incantation, spellwork. You can’t honestly think your _will_ counts as a spell?” 

“I...I…” What could he say to that? Merlin’s will actually did count as a spell, a lot of the time but, _technically_ , Arthur was right. Magic operating without a spoken spell or some other vector to direct it was rare to the point of being unknown. Merlin remembered Gaius’ expression the day they’d first met, he’d moved a bed with only his mind and told the old man that he’d never properly learned a spell. He himself didn’t even really know where the power had come from. 

“I guess you’re right… you’ll have to report the… incident, of course.” He said it like a question, and Arthur scowled at him. 

“Obviously I’m right, Merlin, I’m the Crown Prince of Camelot, I’ve been hunting sorcerers since I was in the nursery, and as for _reports_ , I’m more than qualified to conduct an investigation on my own manservant.” He stalked past Merlin, full of haughty, aristocratic confidence. 

“Of course, Sire.” Now Merlin was positive he was dreaming. 

“I supposed I shouldn’t be surprised that _you_ would be daft enough to think you had magical powers.” Arthur decided, smirking, “A simple country peasant would struggle to understand such things, having no experience with magic. It must have been quite stressful, believing you’d done magic on accident.” 

“On… accident…” Merlin repeated faintly as Arthur opened the door to his chambers. “Of… of course, sire.” 

“You are my servant, Merlin. You don’t know the first thing about relaying strategic information, you’ll only confuse people with your fooling babbling. I will handle this incident from here.” With that, Arthur swept out. 

Merlin’s legs no longer seemed able to support him. He collapsed into the chair the prince had just vacated. “Of course, sire.” He said, to no one. 


	3. Fact Gathering

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, I was supposed to post this tomorrow but I didn't want to wait. Pretend this is being posted tomorrow. Alternate title for this chapter; "Not Just a River in Egypt".

Only years of court life enabled Arthur to keep his face from betraying him as he fled his own chambers like a coward. He tried to sweep out, a purposeful stride, but his stomach was shaking like an autumn leaf. 

A few people bowed or did courtesy as he passed, but no one tried to stop the prince, and most averted their eyes as soon as they made eye contact. It was a good thing, he hardly took notice of his surroundings as he almost ran to the staircase leading to the outer wall, desperate for fresh air to clear his head. If he’d been more focused he might have wondered what his face looked like, for courtiers and servants alike to be cowed by the mere expression. 

Sorcerers were supposed to be cunning. Tricky. Dangerous. Evil.

Merlin was none of those things. Therefore, Merlin could not be a sorcerer. 

And yet… Arthur couldn’t stop seeing Merlin’s face as it had looked when the servant had reached out across the field. There was nothing of Merlin’s usual unconcerned snark or affable harmlessness. He’d even been standing straighter. It was as if some disguise of ignorance and haplessness had fallen away, replaced with a man who knew absolutely what to do, and knew absolutely that no one could stop him from doing it.

Where had it come from?

At that moment Merlin  _ had  _ looked dangerous, and Arthur had no doubt whatsoever that he’d used magic. He’d felt it, like the rush of hot bathwater after hours training on a cold winter morning. It had flowed over him and set his skin prickling. Arthur rubbed his palms against his thighs as he climbed the stairs to the wall, trying to rub away the phantom sensation. 

What he didn’t understand was how Merlin had done it. Or, for that matter, why a sorcerer hadn’t taken his chance to kill the only son of Uther Pendragon when he easily could have. The knights of Camelot had been no better than statues. Had Merlin decided to kill him it would have been the work of a moment, and the boar would have been the perfect excuse for his death. No one would have suspected him, not even Uther himself. 

For that matter, Merlin hadn’t even needed to  _ do  _ anything. If he’d simply stayed where he was and watched, the boar would have done his dirty work for him. So  _ why  _ had he revealed himself? More, if he was going to save Arthur’s life, why hadn’t he frozen Arthur too? Questions chased each other around the prince’s mind as he stared out on the green landscape of the land that would one day be his… the land that he had only lived to protect another day because of Merlin. 

The mystery had been enough to stay Arthur’s hand. The thought of killing Merlin without knowing why he’d done what he did made Arthur's stomach twist. Of course, if it turned out that Merlin was plotting against him he’d have to be put to death regardless.

_ “...you have to kill me now”  _ He’d said it with such calm, such confidence. It made Arthur want to snarl.  _ He  _ was the prince.  _ He  _ decided who he did and didn’t have to kill. Idiot. 

He’d told Merlin he’d handle the incident, and he would. The next logical step was to get more information. Yes. More information. He’d interrogated Merlin and now he was fact-gathering. Just like any other investigation. There was no need to involve others, as the only witness, Arthur was perfectly qualified to gather facts on his own. If he came up with anything,  _ then  _ he’d report it. 

No need to trouble his father without facts. 

\--

Arthur ducked into Gaius’ chambers the morning after he’d returned with the boar’s head. Merlin was out, he’d made sure of that. It hadn’t been difficult to keep the idiot busy as there was an upcoming tournament to prepare for. 

The old man looked up from his workbench as the Prince entered, and gave a slight bow. 

“Sire, I’m afraid Merlin is not here, he’s been quite busy since yesterday,” 

“Actually, Gaius, I came to see you.” Arthur closed the door behind himself and Gaius’ eyebrow raised. “I see, are you in need of a remedy? A strain, perhaps?” The healer reached for a tin of something sitting on the bench. When he popped the top off the tin the foul smell of whatever was inside wafted across the room.

“Ah, thank you, no,” Arthur said firmly. Gaius re-capped the tin and Arthur approached, though a little cautious now. Stalling a little, he picked up one of the small glass vials from the workbench and frowned at the lumpy purple contents. Whatever it was squirmed slightly under his scrutiny. Hastily, Arthur set it down. “I’m afraid I need something more... complicated than a salve.” 

“Oh?” 

Arthur nodded, “I need answers. I’ve had a... thought.” 

Gaius set down his funnel and the glass of cure he’d been working on. “Of course, Sire.” 

“Hypothetically,” Arthur couldn’t help but glance at the door for a moment, then he forged ahead. “Say there was a magical creature, a creature  _ animated  _ by magic. Would a sorcerer be able to control that creature? Tell it what to do?” 

Gaius frowned. “Certainly, if he wielded a spell powerful enough to direct the magic animating the creature.” 

“What about without a spell?” Arthur pressed, “what about a sorcerer who could direct the creature and utter no spell or enchantment of any kind?” 

“Did the sorcerer create the creature?” 

“Let's say no, hypothetically.”

“I see. That would be very rare, your highness.” Gaius shook his head, but Arthur noticed the hint of concern in his eyes, “It would be very difficult to control magics cast by another without the aid of any kind of spell. Almost all magical ability is learned through spellcasting or incantation.” 

Arthur nodded, made to turn, but something caught his attention. “Almost?” 

Gaius nodded and shifted in his seat. He looked uncomfortable, but when Arthur gestured him on, he said “there are some, very few, you understand, who are born with  _ innate  _ magical ability. Some have very little, so little that they hardly notice they have it. Others are among the most powerful magicians alive. Someone with such innate power may be able to do what you describe if they were powerful enough.” 

“Born with magic,” Arthur repeated, frowning. “That would mean they did not choose to learn sorcery.” 

“I suppose so.” 

“So if caught, they would burn for an accident of birth, not a choice they themselves made.” It made Arthur angry to think about, and he wasn’t entirely sure why. Was a man with a naturally short temper not punished for the result of his rages? Did a born simpleton not suffer the indignities of their ignorance? Was magic so different? 

Perhaps not… but perhaps… 

Gaius was frowning at him, “May I ask how this line of questioning originated, my lord?” 

Apprehension was starting to make lines around the older man’s mouth, and Arthur frowned.  _ Merlin you idiot _ . So the fool wasn’t only trying to get himself killed. “Just wondering, Gaius. Something in a book was reading.”

Relaxing fractionally, Gaius picked up his tools and shook his head. “Reading books now, are we?” 

It was Arthur’s turn to frown. “I  _ read _ .” 

“Yes, Sire, of course.” 


	4. Preparations Begin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... my original plan for this story included ten chapters. I'm not so sure I'll be able to stick to that anymore, but the stupid plot kept making me want to add things, clarify this, add more of that, etc. 
> 
> This is why I don't outline things, people.

The steps leading to Arthur’s chambers from the kitchen were narrow and steep, designed to be easy to defend in the event of a siege. This had always seemed to Merlin like a rather short-sighted plan; clearly, the builder had never considered the poor souls who would be obliged to carry loaded trays of food up and down his creation. Merlin cursed the unknown architect as he stumbled on the edge of one particularly narrow stair and sloshed hot soup on his own hand. 

In the week since he’d exposed his magic to Arthur, Merlin had begun to suspect that he’d been too hasty in thinking that Arthur wouldn’t execute him… though as each day passed without incident Merlin was beginning to believe that there truly would be no trial and the prince wouldn’t do him in with rope or pyre.

The prat had apparently decided to _work_ Merlin to death instead. 

The preparation for the upcoming autumn tournament was his weapon of choice and no trial was needed; the workload was massive and veritable armies of servants were needed for the mad scramble to buff and polish Camelot’s capital city until she gleamed, even the prince’s own manservant could not make excuses. 

To be fair, it wasn’t just a tournament this year; the normal celebration that marked the end of harvest had been elongated into a weeks-long affair of feasting, fighting, and entertainment, that promised to dazzle even the most high-brow nobility. The event had been conceived to celebrate the signing of the Tintagel Accords exactly thirty years before. Uther, who had then been an eighteen-year-old king, a relative political unknown and totally untried, had made his mark with the Accords and played a major role in uniting the five kingdoms. Understandably, the now-aging king would not see the anniversary of his accomplishment pass without a celebration.

And so exhaustion was to be Merlin’s end. It only took a few hours of floor scrubbing for the servant to decide he preferred the flame. If Merlin didn’t know better he’d swear the prince was using magic; Arthur seemed able to sense when his servant finished a task, and he was always hovering just over Merlin’s shoulder with another in an endless list of chores. Polish, sharpen, iron, clean, air out, thrash, feed, muck out, fetch, send, carry, sew… it was amazing that the prince found time to breathe, Merlin certainly didn’t. 

When he collapsed, boneless and exhausted, into bed each evening Merlin scarcely had time to be thankful it was over before plunging into sleep. The single advantage was that the frantic pace of the preparations made it almost impossible to find time to worry about what Arthur was thinking. 

The prince had, without doubt, proved himself remarkably obtuse in the past… still, it was impossible for Merlin to accept that Arthur _really_ didn’t understand magic had been done right in front of him. Arthur had, after all, been trained to hate and hunt magic almost from birth, and he was nothing if not a good soldier.

But what reason did Arthur have to lie? Could it be-- dare Merlin even think it?-- that Arthur was able to accept Merlin’s magic? A part of Merlin… a stupid, naive, optimistic part that he habitually shoved down and ignored, wanted to believe that Arthur _did_ know, and was trying to protect him. You couldn't hate someone you were willing to protect, right? Another part of Merlin, the part that wasn't a hopeless fool, hissed that the prince of Camelot couldn’t possibly be trusted to protect a magic-user. That this was some kind of trick, a trap that Arthur needed time to lay.

And sometimes, another part of Merlin, a part that hid behind his heart and seemed to tingle in the back of his skull when his eyes shone gold, whispered something else. 

Sometimes, early in the morning, when the cold crept into Merlin’s bones and he could feel the watery light of the sun just starting to peek through the trees, a strange image slid into his drowsy mind like a memory that hadn’t yet occurred. In his mind’s eye, a great hall soared up, draped in crimson banners and anchored in the center by a round wooden table, big enough to seat at least a dozen men, that was polished so finely it gleamed like a gem in the torchlight.

When Merlin opened his eyes on those mornings they were damp, and he didn’t know why. 


	5. The Arrival

Work made the time pass in a blur. As the Accords celebrations grew nearer the pace increased until Merlin found himself looking for reasons to be in Arthur’s chambers, which were warm and needed considerably less scrubbing than the rest of the castle did, apparently.

It was there he got his first glimpse of the Bernician retinue. 

From his position at one of Arthur’s windows, the end of the supply line was almost visible. The people of Camelot, no doubt coming out to see the spectacle, were gathered in small clusters like pale grapes on the snaking vine of wagons and carts from Merlin’s vantage point. 

Merlin turned to stare at Arthur’s back. “I thought you said Edwin was a _prince_?”

Arthur stayed bent over the myriad papers spread out on his table, but he shook his head in exasperation. “His name is Ector, _Mer_ lin, and he is a prince, so consider showing the man some respect while he’s here. Not all members of the nobility are as heroically patient as I am.”

Merline rolled his eyes at Arthur’s back and went back to pretending to clean the window. A man at the gates appeared to be unloading two cages full of… were those pigeons? A troupe of players were getting out of a wagon, towing their own instruments, including a full-sized harp, and there were no less than three brilliantly white stallions being led across the courtyard, towards the stables, no doubt. 

Ector’s supplies _alone_ were going to be the only thing people talked about for days… In less than eight hours the event of the decade was set to begin-- and to be sure, it was no small gathering. Though the tournament dominated a whole week of celebrations, there were two full weeks of feasts and meetings and entertainments to be held before the tournament began.

Despite this, Camelot, as the host of the event, was to supply the vast majority of the food and other goods needed. Ector of Bernicia wasn’t due to arrive in Camelot until the evening feast, but the line of waiting supplies he’d sent ahead stretched across the courtyard and into the upper town, down through the lower bailey, and out of sight… apparently all for himself and his household. Many of Uther’s allies and anyone wanting to flatter or gain favor from Camelot had been sending supplies to assist with the burden of hosting, but Bernicia wasn’t an ally of Camelot as far as Merlin knew. 

“Well then, does the Master of Chambers know Prince Ector is moving in?” Another time he might have made a more cutting remark, but Merlin had found himself a little more cautious in recent days. 

Arthur did look up at that, and his smirk seemed genuine. “No, he’s only coming for the Accords celebration, as you well know.” 

Merlin shook his head. “Well, _I_ don’t want to be the one to tell him… imagine having to deal with the _both of you_.” Merlin sidestepped nimbly and the tightly furled scroll hit the wall behind where his head had been just moments before. “Just a jest, Sire, of course…” Merlin held out his hands placatingly, but he was grinning. 

Arthur looked back to his desk, then realized he’d thrown a scroll he needed. “Give that back, Merlin.” 

“What, this?” Merlin snatched the paper up and waggled it between two fingers, tauntingly. “But _my lord_ , you _gave_ it to me. Does the Crown Prince of Camelot often give gifts so insincerely? I’m scandalized!” The sarcasm in his tone was so thick it could have been spread on bread. 

For a moment Merlin was afraid Arthur wouldn’t rise to the bait, but then the prince ground out “ _Mer_ lin” in just that tone, and he knew he’d won just a few seconds before the blonde man launched from the chair. 

A short but determined wrestling match ensued, which Merlin could never have hoped to win by mundane means, and was far too aware of the risks to attempt to win with magic. Arthur had won his prize and the two men were grinning at each other like fools, disheveled and slightly winded when there was a sharp knock on the door. 

“My lord? The Master of Chambers wishes to speak with you regarding Edwin, Prince of Bernicia’s accommodation.” 

Arthur scrambled back to his desk, aiming for dignity, and Merlin mouthed “ _Told you_ ”. This time the scroll thunked squarely into the middle of his forehead. 

Merlin turned back to the window once again, rubbing his forehead and thinking that, if nothing else came of the event with the boar, at least he still had Arthur. Maybe that was enough. 

-

Merlin was leaving Arthur’s room with a bucket of window cleaning supplies when Gwen caught him. He hadn’t wanted to leave, but when Arthur had left for his meeting with the Master of Chambers he’d ordered Merlin to “stop pretending to clean and go make yourself useful, as  _ unlikely  _ as that may be.” with no other option under the eagle eye of his prince, Merlin went. 

“Merlin!” Gwen beamed as best she could around the massive pile of laundry in her arms. “Oh, I’m so glad I caught you. I hate to bother but--” 

Merlin shifted the bucket onto one arm and stepped forward. “Of course, let me help you with that,”

“Oh no,” She laughed and gestured behind herself with the pile. “I've got this, I was hoping you could go get the rest.” 

Merlin looked down the stairs, “I thought the laundry was almost done?” 

“It is, this is just what was just brought by the household from Bernicia.” 

“Ah.”


	6. A Troubling Encounter

The nobility of Camelot, with Uther and Arthur at the head, were assembling to welcome the first guests of the evening. The servants, those who could be spared, mostly personal body servants, and grooms from the stables to take the horses, were collected behind their masters. 

Everyone was buzzing quietly about Prince Ector as the fine carriages started to rumble into sight. Some of the younger men and knights made the point to arrive on horseback, their fine coats-- no doubt donned just outside the gates, as they showed little dust from the road-- were brushed to gleaming and their horses bore the insignias of their many houses picked out in glittering golden or silver thread on brilliant banners. 

Uther was at his regal best. His cape was Camelot red and his crown caught the torchlight as he strode forward to clasp hands with fellow kings and princes, bowing courteously to the few ladies in attendance and ignoring the servants with regal dignity. Arthur, Merlin noticed from his position behind the prince, was all but Uther’s shadow. The son moved with his father, bowing a half-second later and just slightly more deeply, kissing the hands of Ladies after Uther greeted them, and speaking only to greet guests or when Uther spoke to him first. The message of loyalty and unity was clear to all comers; Uther and Arthur Pendragon were one and the same. 

Merlin looked away, unsettled, and found himself staring at a man he’d never seen before. 

The newcomer was standing beside one of the grooms, handing over the reins of a horse that looked like it’d ridden hard. It was hardly surprising, the fellow must be one of the incoming guests or their staff but… something about him made Merlin look twice. At first, he thought it was because the man was bald. He didn’t look old enough for such a thing, and so it drew Merlin’s attention… then he realized there was something else. The man wasn’t looking at the horse or the groom, or anyone else for that matter. He had wickedly blue eyes, and they were fixed to Uther. 

Merlin watched the man track Uther’s bow as he greeted a woman in a gauzy white wimple and frowned. The man wore only a traveling cloak and a set of riding clothes, dirty from the journey, and there was no sign of insignia on his clothing or saddle. Who was he…? 

Arthur moved to Uther’s side, smiling his most gallant smile at the woman in the wimple and nodding along to Uther’s introduction. There was a younger man beside her now, and Merlin hardly heard the words the group shared as he watched the stranger’s sharp gaze flick suddenly to Arthur and fix on him with the same intensity it had previously focused on Uther. Something in Merlin’s stomach clenched as Arthur laughed at something the young noble beside the woman said and the stranger smiled. Merlin could not have said why, but the smile made something cold slide down his spine. 

With a nod to the groom the man turned on his heel to march into the castle and, unthinking, Merlin made to follow him. He might have slipped away unnoticed but at that moment Arthur called to him, “Ah, there you are Merlin, come here will you and carry Sir Dinadan’s saddlebag, he’s ridden hard all this way just to lose to me! The least we can do is show him some courtesy!” 

Merlin hardly heard Dinadan’s friendly laughter at the taunt and scarecly felt the weight of the saddlebag on his arm. The man was moving out of sight now, into the hall, and as Arthur directed him towards the knight's quarters Merlin realized he was going the opposite direction. Frustrated, but given no other option, Merlin went. 

-

Sneaking away from Arthur right before a feast was no mean feat, but Merlin had quite a lot of experience in sneaking after more than three years in Camelot. He waited until Arthur was occupied with the tailor, dealing with a previously unnoticed tear in the tunic he’d planned to wear that night, before sneaking away. It would take the man a while to deal with the problem, and Arthur would hopefully be too irritated to notice Merlin’s absence if he was gone and back quickly. 

In the hallway, Merlin found a quiet corner and closed his eyes. He held his breath for a moment, trying not to think about how  _ monumentally  _ stupid it was to be doing magic in the hallway, for crying out loud, after such a recent brush with exposure… but even as he considered sneaking back into the room, finding another way, the man’s face swam into his mind and he knew he had to do something  _ now _ .  _ ‘Just be quick’. _

Closing his eyes, he brought the image of the man into his mind’s eye and then cast his magic into the castle around him.  _ Ascian _ , he only needed to invoke the spell in his mind for the magic to be spiraling out, searching for the man. To anyone who happened by, he would look like a servant taking a short rest out of sight from his master before hurrying back to work, but Merlin’s mind was far from his body. His consciousness spread along corridors, down staircases, and into rooms with rushing speed that left him a little dizzy. 

He found the man sitting at a finely made table in what Merlin recognized as the quarters set aside for the household of the visiting nobility. Merlin pushed his magic into the room and sought for some clue, anything to tell him which room the man was in. The room was round, so it was likely in one of the towers. The walls were whitewashed and hung with fairly standard tapestries, pale fabrics, and normal cotton thread, so it was not a room for nobility. The fire was lit but not high, and the bed, sitting a few feet from the table, was turned down, so the housemaids had been in recently. The window was closed but the drapes were pulled back to let light in. 

It was a tricky thing, searching in non-corporeal form. Merlin had never really gotten good at it, but thankfully one didn’t need to sneak here. No one could possibly-- 

Merlin directed his magic to flow towards a chest under the window, thinking there may be a crest on the lid or the lock. As he moved past the man jerked and, to his utter surprise, looked up. The stranger looked up at Merlin’s magic as though he could see Merlin himself and spoke. Though Merlin could not hear the words, exactly, he would see the shape of them and somehow he knew what the man was saying;  _ “Now,  _ who  _ are  _ you _? _

The man didn’t look angry-- actually, Merlin wished he did. The look on his face was a mixture of excitement and curiosity that was bright and terrifying. Jerking himself back, Merlin all but collapsed against the wall, panting. In his mind’s eye, those too avid eyes seemed to stare into him. 

Whoever he was, the stranger  _ must  _ have magic. That was the only possible explanation. Magic-users (except himself, of course) only came to Camelot for one reason. The feeling from before had returned tenfold, and though Merlin didn’t understand where it came from, he now knew what it was: Dread. 

“ _ Merlin _ !” Arthur, furious, was suddenly at Merlin’s shoulder, pulling him off the wall with one hand. He held his tunic in the other. “ _ What _ are you-- in the  _ hallway _ !?”

Confused, not sure at all how to take Arthur’s thunderous expression and thinking of the last time he’d said something similar, Merlin held up his hands in self-defense. “I’m sorry Sire, I was just… taking a rest. I won’t… I’m sorry?” 

Arthur’s grip on Merlin's arm was bruising as he dragged the servant back towards his rooms. Head spinning, Merlin didn’t resist. “Honestly Merlin,” Arthur grumbled as he shoved the newly mended tunic in Merlin’s direction. “What could possibly be so exhausting about  _ dressing _ ?” 

“Nothing, sire, of course not.” As Merlin stripped the prince of his normal clothes and assembled the finery, his mind raced. He’d have to think about Arthur's strange behavior later. In the meantime, he needed help. He needed to find Gwen. 

-

Since Morgana’s betrayal Gwen no longer had a place among the inner household servants, but out of consideration for her previous loyal service-- not to mention the Crown’s hand in her innocent father’s death-- she’d been granted a place among the general household and kept on as a housemaid. Merlin found her in the mending room just outside the laundry picking up a basket of hose and garters. 

“Gwen!” He dropped the sheets that he’d brought down as an excuse to get out of a now very irate Arthur’s rooms into a random pile and hurried to her. “Gwen, I need a favor, I don’t have much time.” 

She smiled, “Arthur still running you ragged, is he?” 

“Yes, no, well, yes but that’s not why I’m here. I need some gossip.”

“ _ Excuse _ me?” Gwen’s raised eyebrow may not have rivaled Gaius, but it certainly showed the influence. 

“No, no not that. I mean, I’m not saying _you're_ a gossip. I just thought you might _know_ some gossip.” 

“Hm.” 

“Not that you’d know gossip because you are… look, Gwen., I don’t have time. You’ve got ears, don’t you? Everybody knows the maids know everything. I need to know about a man.” 

Now Gwen blushed, the color flushing her dark skin prettily. “ _ Oh _ .” 

Frantically Merlin waved his hands in the air.  _ Oh, bugger it all _ . “No, no Gwen, not like that, I just…” He gestured to the stairs. “Look, I have to go back. I need to know if you’ve seen a man with the households, he’s pale and he’s got blue eyes and he’s not dressed like a noble-- dark riding cloak and hood, no crest at all. If you’d seen him you might remember, he’s as bald as a hermit, but he looks young. I didn’t see him come in with anyone but he’s got to be part of a household.” 

Gwen frowned. “Merlin, is everything OK?” 

Looking into her lovely, concerned eyes, he felt himself deflate. It seemed ages since the events with the boar had turned his life upside down. He’d hardly had the chance to speak to Gaius or Gwen in weeks, he didn’t understand where he stood with Arthur and lately, he felt like a wheel spinning on a broken axle; Always moving but never going forward. 

“Everything’s fine, Gwen.” He promised and felt something in his heartbreak a little as he watched her face smooth, accepting the lie. It  _ was  _ fine. It was better this way, wasn’t it? Involving her would only put her in danger. “Do you remember the man I’m talking about?” 

“Hmmm…” She pursed her lips thoughtfully and shifted her basket to a more comfortable position. “Bald… well, there is a man from Bernicia who is bald.” 

_ Click _ . “Not Ector?”    
  
“Oh no, I don’t think Prince Ector has arrived yet, actually. A little odd, that, most of the other nobility have already come in. He’s sent most of his household already though, and I am almost certain one of them was bald. They’re quartered in the north tower.” 

Merlin nodded, “Thanks, Gwen, that’s brilliant. That’s just what I needed.” 

She stopped his retreat with a hand on his arm, a much gentler echo of Arthur’s earlier gesture. “Will, you just… be careful, ok?” 

“I always am, you know that.” He smiled brightly, and she watched him hurry off up the stairs, completely forgetting to take clean sheets with him. “I'm not sure  _ what  _ I know.” Gwen mused as the dark-haired man disappeared from sight. But maybe it was time she found out. It shouldn’t be too difficult.

Maids knew everything, after all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may go back and edit this one at some point, but here you go. This story is growing out from under me as I write it, so I apologize if this one isn't any good. I'm just trying to keep up!


End file.
